Date: Tue, 24 Nov 2020 09:00:00 +0000 (GMT) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 105 Last of the Line by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 105 That first night I was too tired to do any more than take Stewart by the hand and lead him to the spare room. A big double bed on our own was what we both needed. There would be time for other arrangements to be explored another day. The next morning I asked Hamish and Jack to take Stewart to see everyone in Lairg so that they knew who he was and, more important, he knew who they were. The village still had over 300 people - well down on the 900 or so when Billy and I had first visited over 60 years earlier. There were very few children now, much like Uttoxeter. People - men and women - still fucked each other and babies were still born, but as had been the case 200 years earlier a lot of them didn't make it to age 5. Many young adults had left, believing that there were better opportunities in the cities. By the time they got there and discovered that outsiders were hated it was too late to return. The remaining villagers were mostly over 50 - I don't suppose more than 50 or 60 were younger. Stewart was therefore a shot in the arm. A fit young man would never find himself short of small tasks to perform for old folk, and he quickly agreed that being seen as helpful would be wise. "Just keep quiet about the killing," I said. While the three of them were away I settled down to the business of my own story. I had put it off for as long as I could, but 2040 couldn't be ignored any longer. It had started so promisingly. ***************** My pigeon-hole was empty when I returned. I was disappointed as I'd been expecting a note from Edward, but I knew I would see him in Chapel. When I took my usual - but now infrequent - place there was Henry, but no Edward. Our eyes met and a small smile appeared. After the service I waited where Edward and I had always met. "Hello, Henry, had a good Christmas?" He nodded, his mind on more urgent matters. "Are you in the same rooms?" "Yes, why? Is anything wrong?" He shook his head. "No - well, yes, but it's complicated. Can we still come and see you like last term?" "Of course you can. Tomorrow at 2?" "Yes," and he rushed off. No mention of Edward's absence from Chapel - was that the complication, I wondered. Still, Authority hadn't put a stop to my supposedly instructing them in whatever it was I was supposed to be instructing them in. The following afternoon he appeared out of breath. "What's up? You're not usually on your own." "Edward's no longer in the choir. His voice broke in the holidays. Mr Marsh says we should both should still come for lessons with you because he says I'm too young to be on my own." "Are you sure?" "Yes - well, no, but we'll have to do what he says. I'd rather it was just you and me, Dab." "So where is he, Edward, I mean?" The tap at the door provided the answer. "Why did you rush ahead, you bugger?" asked a cross Edward. "I wanted to tell Dab you weren't in the choir any more." For some reason this tame answer seemed to satisfy Edward. "What happens to you now?" I asked, "about the school, I mean." "Nothing. I have two more terms here then off to what my father regards as the big opportunity of my life. He says this about three times a day. Either he got well and truly buggered there and loved it, or he missed out on all the buggering but met all sorts of important people who would be useful to him when they all grew up." It was refreshing to find such a highly developed streak of cynicism in one so young. "Still here you both are, and for another two terms. Then poor Henry will have to endure it all on his own." As it had been almost a month since the three of us had enjoyed each others' company the afternoon passed agreeably. Several orgasms were achieved and the evidence dealt with. While having two charming boys in my bed was never unwelcome I did feel that having both at the same time was overdoing it a bit - besides I had agreed with Henry when he had said he preferred it when there were just two of us. It was time I went to see Colin to talk about my benefaction. Other matters would not go unmentioned. I took a note to the Porter's Lodge seeking '15 minutes of your time'. I found a reply in my pigeon hole later that day. 4pm tomorrow. Crumpets - it's too early for sherry. At 4.01 the crumpets were impaled on the toasting fork: I was doing the cooking while Colin brewed the Earl Grey. "Well. Dab? Not bad news, I hope." "Far from it. I want to sort the little matter of my contribution to the greater glory of the Fisher Choir. "Ah. And you want my thoughts." I nodded. "Would you prefer me to finance a magrec, or a tour?" He paused for several seconds. "A magrec is more permanent, if that matters to you, whereas a tour exposes the choir to a wider audience, and the choir members have the added pleasure of seeing places new to them." "I have no desire for anything permanent, Colin. I will be going down in two terms, and you won't have me to worry about after June. I don't suppose a tour could be arranged for the Easter vac?" "Not a chance, but we might put something together for summer if I get on with it. Did you have anywhere in mind - I assume you will wish to ... help with the arrangements?" I nodded. "I'm happy to be there, Colin." It was time to bait the hook. "What could you do with £10,000? Europe?" He shook his head. "Travel adds hugely to the cost. For £10,000 I could take the choir to four venues in England." "How about if we made it £15,000? You could visit five venues, and if you gave the same performance each time it could go on a magrec. Would £15,000 cover that?" "Most assuredly, Dab, but ... why the extra generosity? It isn't necessary, you know." "There's a condition, Colin. Henry doesn't really need a chaperon. I'm happy to go on giving lessons to both of them, but ... let's put it this way, their behaviour in class is better if there's only one of them." He didn't take long to make up his mind. We shook on it. "I'll have the money transferred tomorrow. The only other condition is that one of the venues is in Stoke." Things settled down a bit after that. Henry wasn't pleased that his lessons would now only be once a week, but when I told him that he would have my undivided attention he brightened up. "And Edward's the same?" I nodded. "OK, but maybe if I'm really stupid and don't understand a lesson very well you might have to repeat it?" Nice try, I thought, deciding that it was really quite likely that such a thing might well be necessary from time to time. With my Tripos Part II due in less that five months I really had to buckle down to work, and what with that and my side-line in other areas the term passed very quickly. I can't let things pass without at least mentioning an occasion in early March. Henry had appeared as usual and by then we had moved from Bach and Mendelssohn to more taxing fare. Mahler always made a fine sound, loud enough to drown any unwonted cries from my pupil. We had enjoyed our usual preliminaries - inspection and admiration of the parts about to be penetrated as well as those penetrating - yes, Henry was occasionally fucking me by then - and on this occasion I was to fuck him first. Lips, tongue and fingers prepared the way (he had made me promise never to vary how I got him 'all hot and twitchy', as he put it) and I slowly entered him. He liked it when I paused at the entry ('your cock's all fat there and I love feeling really stretched') and I had to remain there until he nodded me in. When Colin finally got his hands on him (which Henry assured me hadn't happened yet: 'not till I'm 12, apparently') he would find a boy vastly more skilled than most of his charges. This was, by request of the recipient, to be a long fuck. The opening movement of Mahler's Third Symphony lasts about 40 minutes, and only 10 had so far been played before I got the nod from Henry. Luckily I knew the score well, so I could time the thing fairly accurately. We were well under way, with seven or eight minutes left when Henry jack-knifed, as he usually did when he came. I paused, keeping my cock deep inside. Henry's eyes were tight shut, so he hadn't seen what had happened. I reached a finger onto his belly and put it to his lips. "Taste," I said. "What is it ... is that mine?" I nodded. "Congratulations. Look." There was enough spunk to fill half a small teaspoon, but it was real, and what's more it wasn't watery. "Is that your first?" He nodded. "I'll do the second in you, Dab, after you've reminded my arse what spunk feels like." Mahler had only a couple of minutes to go, so the rest of that fuck was hard and fast. "Aaah! yes," he groaned as I fired into him. In view of what had happened we agreed that on this occasion Henry would not fuck me. As he put it "your arse can't taste what I squirt". As he had come not half an hour before he lasted quite a long time in my mouth, and delivered at least two drops. He admired them when I opened my mouth, and our cum-sharing kiss was special for both of us. Mahler's Third Symphony has six movements. It finished before we did. ********** Hamish and Jack aren't back with Stewart yet, but I can't put this off any longer. Life for me had been pretty good until the end of that term. Looking back from the dying hours of the Century I imagine that most of the 8 billion humans then on Earth would have wanted to stay in March 2040 too. I've steered clear of what is now ancient history for some time, but the global events of my years in Cambridge can't be ignored any longer. When I was born the then American president was widely seen outside his own support base as being a buffoon, a man with no sense of serious purpose whatever. (Without the benefit of hindsight we didn't know just how much more dangerous a future president could be.) After he left office there was an inevitable swing away from his shallow and isolationist policies, back towards the kind of position where the United States saw itself as a leader, setting examples of free trade, open discourse, human rights, action to mitigate climate change - all things long gone now from our daily lives. Just as inevitably, given the irreconcilable split in that country, there was a savage swing back to the isolationist right, and the result was the election of white supremacist President Leigh in November 2036. It was only when I went up to Fisher the following October that I started to notice what was going on outside my own circle, although by that time Leigh hadn't done anything too outrageous. It's hard now, over 60 years later, to pin-point the first sign of real trouble, but at the time the flash-point was undoubtedly the triple bombing of the three cathedrals. Astonishingly, despite the constant terrorist threats world-wide since the beginning of this ghastly century, security at Christian places of worship seems to have been non-existent. So when, in the space of six hours on 1 April 2040 - Easter Sunday - St Peter's in Rome, St Paul's in London and St John the Divine in New York were all bombed, with over 7,000 killed, there was instant global panic. The perpetrators had posted on-line messages boasting of their mission to kill infidels - this had not been uncommon in the years leading up to 2040 - but for the first time the USA had a president with no sense of how to respond wisely. On 4 April 2040, almost 95 years since the first two nuclear bombs had been exploded over Japanese cities, the third and fourth such horrors took place. A 10 megaton bomb over the centre of Riyadh and a 20 megaton bomb over Mecca wiped out the entire oil-based economy of Saudi Arabia and killed unknown millions of Muslims. President Leigh's televised speech praising himself for being bold enough to wipe out - and I won't use the words he used - foreigners who worship differently from himself has been compared to the rantings of Adolf Hitler 100 years earlier often enough for me not to have to go into details. Inevitably the other Middle Eastern counties, reeling from the shock, did some stupid things, and the short war which started and finished within 48 hours at the beginning of May saw at least ten more nuclear bombs launched, making the entire region uninhabitable for centuries. The Muslims, whom President Leigh had hoped would learn the lesson of the obliteration of Mecca, had but a few weeks in which to do so. They were the lucky ones, with death being instantaneous. Unknown millions took longer to die, most in hideous agony. Everywhere from Israel to Iran, even as far as parts of Pakistan, was ruined smoking radioactive desert. Its impossible to know whether terrorism from splinter groups increased or decreased, since with the world-wide panic and the shock effect on the availability of oil the global economy collapsed, and it has never recovered. It became increasingly difficult to know what was happening in other parts of the world, but at least there were radio and satellite communications still, and people - certainly here in England - continued to have reasonably reliable sources of news. While I'm at it I might as well continue this depressing part of the story, at least as far as the disastrous effects of stupid leaders are concerned. The lengthy stand-off between the USA and China for the position of global superpower came to a head while the smoke was still visible over what had been the Middle East, and a vicious trade war (which had been rumbling on and off for almost 30 years) suddenly hotted up in 2041 when President Leigh imposed a total ban on foreign trade with the USA. Within a week someone - no-one ever knew who - had launched a series of small nuclear weapons - some sources said up to 60 or more - which were detonated at very high levels. There was no effect on the ground (unless you happened to be looking up - they were hundreds of miles high) but the electromagnetic radiation pulses destroyed all satellite-based communication. This became known as the Electric War, and its effects throughout the world were devastating. Neighbouring countries no longer co-operated over matters of common concern, not least because all communication except over short distances could only be carried out at the speed of communication 200 years earlier. Because efficient instantaneous communication had become so cheap and so widespread all the older, more reliable forms, had fallen into disuse. Even the international postal system had been discontinued as being too expensive. Quite literally the only way for the English Prime Minister to communicate with the French President was for someone to drive to Paris with a written letter. By 2055 even that would have been difficult, at least as far as driving by car was concerned. Oil and its derivative products were far too scarce to put into vehicles - all of it was needed for medical and manufacturing needs. Electros were almost universal, but - thanks to the Rupture 35 years earlier - it wasn't possible to charge an English electro in France. So it was back to horses, just as it had been for Amos and Seth over 200 years earlier. However it was worse than that, for every household contained literally hundreds of microprocessors in everything from the computer down to the electric kettle. Every one of them ceased working. None of them would ever function again. Simple things like boiling a kettle became difficult if not impossible. Few houses still had a gas connection, and those who cooked and heated their homes by electricity were literally powerless, for the mechanism for switching on was rendered useless by the electromagnetic pulse. It took four years for the scientists to work out how to get round the problem, but anyone who still had a useless electrical device had already devised their own way of cooking and heating their houses. Luckily enough trees were planted each year to maintain a supply of wood. Albert Einstein was wrong about World War 4. He had said that, whatever the outcome of the third World War, the fourth would be fought with bows and arrows. But perhaps the Middle East didn't count as WW3. Certainly WW5 will be fought, if there are enough people left, hand to hand. But as you will find out, that's not very likely. Thank goodness - they're back. I can hear the van. I need a drink. ***** "You look terrible, Dab, what's happened?" said Hamish. "Nothing's happened. I've just been writing another few pages." It hit me then that none of them knew I had been writing anything, never mind the content. "Sit down and I'll tell you." I got a bottle of whisky and four glasses. "Are you a drinker, Stewart?" He shook his head. "Is that alcohol?" Hamish was quick. "No, Stewart, it's the water or life. You wouldn't know I was 135, would you?" "Don't tease, Hamish. Pay no attention, Stewart. It's whisky and if you're not used to it you should take it slowly." He stretched out his hand. He sniffed. He sipped. He almost choked, but then he was still only 15, killer or not. I was pleased to see that he sipped again. He smiled. "Can we get on now that he's passed the test, Dab?" said Jack, his own glass in front of him. "Jack knows that my great-grandfather left me a big file of papers that he wrote, and that his ancestors had written, way back nearly 300 years. My great-grandmother brought this place when they were married. She was killed not that long after in a car crash. I was given all the papers the day I was 16. I resolved to continue the tradition. As far as I know neither my grandfather nor my father wrote anything, and certainly no-one will write anything after I'm gone. I don't know why I keep on doing it, but ... I can't stop. Billy was always on at me to write about us, and you and Dodo, Jack, but I hadn't started when he ... when they ... " Jack put his hand on mine. "You'll find the words when you need to, Dab," he said sadly. "I was writing about 2040." Jack and Hamish nodded. "What happened then?" asked Stewart. "Life stopped getting any better and started getting a fucking sight worse," said Jack. "But what happened?" he persisted. "It's a long story." I went to get him some beer. "Here, drink this instead of the whisky. You'll enjoy it more." ***** The whisky bottle was down to its last quarter and three pints of beer had disappeared before Stewart said he'd heard enough for one day. "There's plenty more," I said, "but not today." It had been dark when I opened the bottle; two hours had passed. Hamish stretched. "I think food after all that, and if I can see straight I'll get something for us. Dab, if you're not planning to keep Stewart to yourself perhaps you two and Jack could work something out?" I laughed. "There's no chance of that, Hamish. When Stewart sees what Jack has to offer you won't see him for dust. Besides, he'll enjoy the big room as much as we do." Jack grinned. "How do you know, Dab?" I blushed - the Cunliffe hair might be white but the blushes hadn't faded. "How do you think? But it was a first for me - for both of us, I think." Jack turned to Stewart. "Well?" He looked at me. I shrugged, "we don't have secrets, Stewart." "He pissed in my bed while I was fucking him and it was a big turn-on for both of us." He turned to me. "They're into piss too, is that right?" "Come on," I said, "you too, Jack." It wasn't easy to see the whole of the big room by the light of one lantern, but Stewart took it from me and explored. Jack and I stood by the door. Stewart came back. "Can we sleep in here?" I nodded. "That's where they sleep. We'll be at this end. And before you ask, yes, you can move to whichever bed you fancy - so can they." "It's what happens in the middle that's unusual," said Jack, "and tomorrow morning you will be able to see it more clearly." "Why make him wait?" I said, "three lanterns ought to be enough. By the time we've eaten we'll be ready for coming back up here." Hamish called, "two minutes." "Come on, Stewart, we'll let you explore later. It's worth the wait." After we'd eaten Stewart said he needed another piss. "I'm not used to beer. I'll be back in a minute," and he got up from the table. "Not so fast, Stewart," said Jack, "haven't you worked it out yet? You don't piss on your own in this house. Not when there's three of us wanting to help." Stewart smiled. "Come on then, show me what it's all about." The three of us went upstairs - clearing up could wait until the morning. Three lanterns lit the sling well enough. "What's that for?" asked Stewart. "That's where the fun happens," said Jack, already half-stripped. Stewart made for one of the loos. "No!" said Jack, "wait! It will only be for one minute, I promise." Stewart wasn't happy. "I'm fucking bursting, Jack." Jack was naked by this time. It was a few years since I'd seen him naked, and time had been kind to him. His cock was hard. Stewart had seen that the rest of us were stripping, so he too was half-way out of his clothes. "I see what you mean, Dab, that's something, isn't it." The urgent need to piss had temporarily abated while he took in - with his eyes only at that stage - Jack's inches. "I think I like it here more and more, Dab," he whispered. It was astonishing how quickly he had settled in to his new home. His awe at Jack's cock waned. "I need to piss right now!" Jack led him to the sling and he and Hamish helped him into it. "Wriggle down and enjoy the next hour or two," I said. I made Jack stand at Stewart's arse, while Hamish and I stood on either side of him. "Don't you need to piss, Stewart?" said Hamish, "I know I do," and without another word being spoken Hamish and I began to anoint the new arrival. "Oh Jesus!" he cried as his bladder gave up the struggle. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 106 as Stewart enjoys his first night in the big room. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================